


Disconsolate

by DankTempsey



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: M/M, alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6636757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DankTempsey/pseuds/DankTempsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takeo eyed the oncoming European, abruptly drawn to the intensity of Nikolai's expression. The manner seemed urgent. </p><p>He wished he could've stayed more composed, but even after two or three sips had he felt well oiled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disconsolate

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! It's my first time writing about Takeo and Nikolai, but it seemed necessary, especially at the end of ZnS!  
> -  
> Kudos and comments are very appreciated!

Disconsolate 

-

 

He was sure there was fire churning in his throat. He wasn't being haughty at this state―his dry lips caressed the bottle, persuaded by forlorn. With every swig, he cringed. With every corrupt thought, he winced. Despair cradled him like a baby in a mother's arms, his final solace was presumably the tender abject and the rancid taste of aged alcohol. Clear drops soaked his black beard, he sighed.

 

It was a nightmare he knew was going to happen. Maybe he underestimated the internal betrayal; he found his lips where he swore he'd stay sober. Embarrassment swarmed the warrior as he heard footsteps approach his immediate surroundings. The clammy ground squished under the weight of brown boots; clad tapped from the butt of suede, sturdy soles. 

 

Takeo eyed the oncoming European, abruptly drawn to the intensity of Nikolai's expression. The manner seemed urgent. 

 

He wished he could've stayed more composed, but even after two or three sips had he felt well oiled. 

 

"What do you want, Russian dog?" Pettily quarreled the samurai. Hostility barked more from his posture than his words, and yet Nikolai had no intent on presenting a tiff notion. He harbored hospitable methods. Perhaps even comforting ones. The man sat with a hefty sigh, proceeding to click his tongue. 

 

"Takeo, I share pity for your soul. I do not agree with the consumption of alcohol."

"Take your pity elsewhere, Nikolai. I am not in any need of it."

 

Umber eyes thickened with curiosity, whilst the Russian reached for the glass vessel. It was quickly disposed of against a hard rock; glass and remaining liquor perished into the earthy ground. Takeo frowned.

 

"I was crossed with fraud and lies, and yet you persist to antagonize me?"

"If you call 'antagonizing' keeping you safe from a path you do not want to go down, then yes. I will continue to. Where did you even manage to find alcohol?"

 

Takeo waved his hand to dismiss the question. He was now focused furthermore onto Nikolai's purpose of appearing. He leaned in. His observation pressed against Nikolai; the scrutinize he laid out morphed into his usually somber mien.

 

"Why do you greet me at such a time, Russian? Have you become blind, did you not epsy what eventuted?" Asked Takeo, cleaning off grouping sweat from his forehead. The air seemed apprehensive. He wondered why he recognized this now, rather than when he resided alonesome. Had it been because of Nikolai? Takeo never sought the portly man to be anymore intimidating than a rock. And so suddenly he grew uncomfortable at the other when he was just in front of him, ensconced upon the mushy ground, talking. Speaking of, Nikolai hadn't a whole lot to say:

 

"Your unfortunate circumstance that happened the other day, Takeo. It wasn't right―"

"It was more than right, Nikolai. What had to be done was immediately carried out. I do not regret it."

"No, Takeo. I meant of the emperor's orders. The unjust double-cross. I fear I've faced many encounters being misguided, but this was cruel. He has probably convinced you to commit to things you could only nod and shake hands with. I apologize."

 

Takeo encored a frown. Rancor was now sincerity for himself, and a new opening of acceptance to what the Russian had to say. Coated with humble expression, the Japanese man responded.

 

"I... find myself pleased with your extent of care. I'm highly content you chose to share it with me," the warrior faced the ground, sheepishly scratching at the back of his neck, "even after us faintly feuding over most topics. You desire to devote kindness. I admire that."

 

Nikolai's lips cracked into a white cavern. It wavered and grew more awkward by the seconds. "It's the least I could do, Takeo. I see you isolate yourself enough. Doing it while in such a predicament would seem challenging," the Russian obliviously moved closer, now right before the other man. The warrior casts an impassive countenance; his heart dribbled like a basketball on an empty court. Especially when Nikolai placed his hand atop Takeo's. 

 

His head was swimming in a cloud of confusion. His tongue began to sting with every word he struggled to say; his throat cherished the sweet feeling of being choked up. And yet, Belinski dared to move closer even closer and lace his fingers around the smaller hand. As awkward tension grew, the Japanese man faced away and sighed. 

 

His discontentment hadn't spawned from the action, but rather begat by the loathe of their detached behaviors. Takeo, surprisingly, wished he and the other were emotionally closer. He's spent more time with Nikolai than anyone else, truly. Their compatible company and little banter between was appreciated in the most requited ways. Even Takeo remembered Nikolai's little grin when the hefty Russian helped resuscitate him. Takeo never smiled back. He never had a reason to.

 

He hoped this would be the reason to smile. To be by his side and aid him with killing the endless hoards. To... lean closer.

 

The silence wasn't lugubrious. It was cleaned over with the pure rapture. And the surface of the floor, for once, didn't seem too pulpy; the air replicated the smell of pine and old cologne had wafted from Nikolai's chest. He was so close now, not that Takeo minded. 

 

"I wouldn't know that you could be so sympathetic, Russian. My eyes have only possessed the sight of you being determined to kill the undead. To see, and experience, your altruistic behavior is... different," the warrior flipped his hand over and grabbed hold of the European's, "I cannot say I hate it either."

 

Nikolai's laughter was tickled with some surprise. No doubt had he felt the same way Takeo did. It was uncanny, but not unsettling. In fact, he found that same "revive-me" beam spreading his lips apart. Nikolai nodded and whispered a little sentence of agreement. 

 

A few more moments of silence daubed the atmosphere. Nothing really needed to be said, anyways. The two knew of this tranquil silence. They were, occasionally, left behind by the other two, and were coerced to make the best of the company. This was nothing new, besides a little intimacy sprinkled on top. 

 

It was impossible to find out that they were plastered together for the whole night. Little conversation occured throughout dusk, nothing new, and maybe a laugh or two from either side. But now, the blistering sun had footslogged around the globe and made the heavens jealous with its custard light. Nikolai even squint when he witnessed the glow, and then looked to Takeo.

 

The warrior had passed out. Beautiful eyes were shielded by tan eyelids, in where creases and freckles remained. His nostrils made an indent with every deep snore, and yet his lips were sealed shut. Nikolai shifted his gaze to the horizon once again, brushing Takeo's thin, onyx hairs backward with a soft gesture and a rough palm.

 

Surely he had closed his eyes and began to rest as well, but that only happened right when the warrior had woken up.

 

-


End file.
